The Boy Who Lived Meets The Boy Who Died
by Byakko Loki
Summary: "I was born in 1998. I lived a full and plentiful life, eventually dying at the age of 91. But that wasn't the end, oh, that was only just the beginning. Because after that, after I died, something else happened…I was born." Every time I die, I'm reborn into a different place in a different time. I was known by many a wizard, as 'the boy who died'.
1. To Live For A Thousand Years

I was born in 1998. I lived a full and plentiful life, eventually dying at the age of 91. But that wasn't the end, _oh_, that was only just the beginning. Because after that, after I died, something else happened…

I was born.

46 BC. That was the year I was born. Met some people I never thought I'd meet, had my fun, and was eventually trampled by a stampede of horses and cattle. I died. And then, the next thing I knew_, I was born again._

The year was 1-1945—pronounced one-nineteen-forty-five. Not futuristic as you would expect, as those idiots practically acted out exactly what happened in the planet of the apes—minus the apes. The damn fuckers blew it all up. Or at least that's my guess. Who knows what they really did to it? But, I have to say, being a ninja sure as hell's fun. That is, at least until some crazy bitch decides to go all metal on your ass, and gouges your eyes out, before ripping their hand through your stomach, and clocking you on the head.

Not the most pleasant way to die. But, at least it was fun, waking up in England in 2-1979—don't ask what happened to the 1st millennium—you really don't want to know. But growing up to become an exorcist, is _definitely _something to look forward to—despite all the pain and suffering that comes with. Later on, I died when I was 18 and some dude decided to just go and tear my limbs from my body, like that was a good idea.

Is it just me, or are my deaths just getting more and more gruesome?

Anyway, I have to say it was a bit of a shock when I woke up in Feudal Japan, and found out I was a half demon—something apparently not that uncommon there. Met some cool people, a girl from the future, and ended up falling into a well and breaking my neck.

Well, isn't that a pitiful death for a demon, even if I was only a half demon.

Next thing I knew, I was in 4-2003—don't even ask what happened to the 2nd and 3rd millennium. Anyway, the 420th century was crazy—it was like the future and the past combined into one—full of flying cars, houses you can keep in tiny capsules, martial arts tournaments, aliens, and dinosaurs. Sadly, I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to my long time good friends, before I fell off a cliff. Honestly, I have no idea where that cliff came from.

Anyway, the next time I awoke, I was all the way back in 18 BC. Saw a creepy scene with some guy calling the other 'my Lord', while the man being called 'Lord', drew crosses on him with his own blood.

Yeah.

Just about died from shock right there.

Died for real only a few minutes later, when I tripped on a dead frog.

Honestly, my deaths went from gruesome, to just plain strange.

Anyway, after that I was reborn, and died, 87 more times, before I finally ended up here. I was reborn—I'd given up saying _'born'_ a long time ago—into the year 1980. Luckily, I'm in England again, so no need to worry about running into myself—just note to self, no visiting America. I've already got an American accent—nothing to fix that—so if anyone asks, I'm visiting from America, and I just got here.

But that's not even the best part—I just got this letter, and while I've already met demons, ninjas, exorcists, mentals, aliens, and much, much more, never before have I met a wizard.

Oh, this was gunna be fun.

**HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY**

**Headmaster: ****Albus Dumbledore****  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, ****International Confed****. of Wizards)**

**Dear Mr. Whoshinda,**

**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at ****Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. ****Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.**

**Yours sincerely,**

**Minerva McGonagall**  
**Deputy Headmistress**


	2. Dermalchik Whoshinda: The Boy Who Died

Just as Professor Grubbly-Plank sat down in _Hagrid's _seat, the doors from the Entrance Hall opened, and in walked Professor McGonagall, with a bunch of scared looking first years trailing behind her. She, Professor McGonagall, was carrying a stool on which the ancient Sorting Hat was placed, as she and the students approached the staff table. The sound of buzzing chatter quickly faded away. The first years were lined up in front of the staff table, facing the rest of the student body, as McGonagall carefully placed the stool in front of them and stood back.

But something was different.

One of the boys, Harry noticed, was much taller than the rest, and looked more like a third or fourth year. He had dark black hair, and bright green eyes, with a yellow tint to them. Unlike the rest of the first years, he was perfectly calm. Bored even, minus the slight look of excitement and curiosity. He was smiling slightly, but other than that his face was for the most part neutral—blank.

His attention was brought back to the hat, as the rip near the hat's brim opened up wide like a mouth, and the Sorting Hat began to sing:

"_In times of old when I was new_

_And Hogwarts barely started_

_The founders of our noble school_

_Thought never to be parted:_

_United by a common goal,_

_They had the selfsame yearning,_

_To make the world's best magic school_

_And pass along their learning,_

"_Together we will build and teach!"_

_The four good friends decided_

_And never did they dream that they_

_Might someday be divided,_

_For were there such friends anywhere_

_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

_Unless it was the second pair_

_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_The whole sad, sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, 'We'll teach just those_

_Whose ancestry is purest.'_

_Said Ravenclaw, 'We'll teach those whose_

_Intelligence is surest.'_

_Said Gryffindor, 'We'll teach all those_

_With brave deeds to their name,'_

_Said Hufflepuff, 'I'll teach the lot,_

_And treat them just the same.'_

_These differences caused little strife_

_When first they came to light,_

_For each of the four founders had_

_A house in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted, so,_

_For instance, Slytherin_

_Took only pure-blood wizards_

_Of great cunning, just like him,_

_And only those of sharpest mind_

_Were taught by Ravenclaw_

_While the bravest and boldest_

_Went to daring Gryffindor,_

_Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,_

_And taught them all she knew,_

_Thus the houses and their founders_

_Retained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

_For several happy years. But then discord crept among us_

_Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The houses that, like pillars four,_

_Had once held up our school,_

_Now turned upon each other and,_

_Divided, sought to rule._

_And for a while it seemed the school_

_Must meet an early end,_

_What with dueling and with fighting_

_And the clash of friend on friend_

_And at last there came a morning_

_When old Slytherin departed_

_And though the fighting then died out_

_He left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the founders four_

_Were whittled down to three_

_Have the houses been united_

_As they once were meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here_

_And you all know the score:_

_I sort you into houses_

_Because that is what I'm for,_

_But this year I'll go further,_

_Listen closely to my song:_

_Though condemned I am to split you_

_Still I worry that it's wrong,_

_Though I must fulfill my duty_

_And must quarter every year_

_Still I wonder whether Sorting_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts is in danger_

_From external, deadly foes_

_And we must unite inside her_

_Or we'll crumble from within_

_I have told you, I have warned you ..._

_Let the Sorting now begin."_

The houses erupted in applause, just as well as it did in chatter. Everyone, including Harry himself, was indulging in trying to explain as to why the Sorting Hat's song was so different this year.

"I wonder if it's ever given warnings before?" He heard Hermione say, worriedly.

Nearly Headless Nick leaned over the table, scaring the shit out of Neville, who he was currently _leaning though._

"Yes, indeed," he said, "'The Hat feels itself honor-bound to give the school due warning whenever it feel—"

He stopped feeling McGonagall's glare, and just put a silent ghostly finger to his lips, and stood upright, as the chatter in the hall ceased. Satisfied, McGonagall read the first name.

"Abercrombie, Euan."

A terrified looking boy—much different from the tall impassive one—stumbled over to the stool, climbing up, and fumbling with the hat as he put it on his head, his large ears being the only thing that prevented it from falling over his face and sinking to his shoulders.

After considering for a moment, the hat called out, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Everyone at his table cheered, as the boy staggered over to their table, proud to have gotten the first student of the year. Harry watched, as one by one, all the first years were called…except one.

_Mr. Tall, Dark and Mysterious…_

_Well, tall for a first year. Not so much for a fourth or fifth. Quite the opposite, actually._

_He was a little dark though, and definitely mysterious._

As he stood there, all the other first years names called, but with his name still not being called, the hall erupted in chatter again. Then, Dumbledore stood, and silence was immediately regained in the hall.

"I'm sure you have all noticed the new student, who just does not quite look like a first year," Dumbledore began, "Well, I would assume that is because he is not. For the first time, in all of History, Hogwarts has a 5th year transfer student—from America!"

Shocked gasped resounded throughout the hall, along with a flurry of whispers.

He looked over to Hermione and Ron.

"No way…" he heard Ron say.

Hermione stared, mouth wide open in shock, "A transfer student…? And in our grade?"

Professor McGonagall's voice rang out throughout the crowd, like a pain filled screech would, in an empty room.

"Whoshinda, Dermalchik."

'_Strange name…Even stranger than 'Harry Potter', 'Hermione Granger', or 'Ron Weasley'.' _

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

**SORRY TO CUT THIS OFF RANDOMLY, BUT IT'S 3:30 IN THE MORNING RIGHT NOW WHERE I'M FROM, AND I NOW HAVE A STOMACH ACHE FROM EATING SOUR PATCH KIDS TO KEEP UP MY ENERGY, AND MY EYES ARE REALLY GETTING BLURRY AND HARD TO SEE.**

**ALSO, QUICK VOTE (**_**IMPORTANT**_**!): WHAT HOUSE SHOULD DERMALCHIK BE IN?**


End file.
